


The Studio Job

by readdummy



Category: Leverage
Genre: Episode: s03e06 The Studio Job, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 06:37:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10380687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readdummy/pseuds/readdummy
Summary: First fic. It took me longer to figure out how to post than write it-so be nice in the judginess. But all concrit welcome cuz I love these two dudes. A little more angsty than I'd like but I'll do better next time.





	

“You ever been in love”?

Kay Lynn’s question is phrased in the past tense, so Eliot stifled his automatic answer. Her question could be avoided, skirted around, and he used studied practice to avoid thinking of Hardison

 “Once”. _Liar_

“How’d it end?”

“I made her a promise, that if she ever needed me I’d be there for her”.  

Eliot wasn’t able to fulfill his promise to Aimee, but Eliot would fulfill his unspoken promise to _him_.

 “What wrong with that?”

“Cuz I made the same promise to the United States government, and I found out you can’t make that promise to more than one person”.

 _He_ was the only person Eliot needed, no **wanted** , to make promises to. Not that Hardison would let Eliot or want Eliot to. He only had eyes for Parker. That made no difference to the pain winding its way through Eliot’s gut that forever he would be on the outside, wanting to make promises if only Hardison would let him.

His face ticked into a micro-expression of _painregretremorsesorrow._

“There, right there. Hold on to that, you’ll do just fine.”

As Eliot walked onto stage, he realized that the girl would think he was thinking of Aimee, crooning out a melody of long-lost love. No, this song was an IM love letter, intended and delivered to the controller’s booth where Hardison sat.

 He would give himself this, one instance to bare his heart, to let all and sundry see the ridiculousness that was Eliot Spencer loving and losing. This, this he could give himself, pour his heart out for the world to hear, no one the wiser.

Except maybe Sophie.

It’s almost impossible to get true emotion past a grifter of her stature. Who she would think Eliot was thinking of wouldn’t matter, she would see the vulnerability beneath and be protective of their hitter.

 

SO MANY FREAKING PEOPLE.

Eliot was shaking a little as he sat down, breathing and heartbeat rabbiting at the masses of faces in the audience. Damn he didn’t want to screw up the con, didn’t want to embarrass himself, to waste this opportunity.

Eliot stuttered a little during his intro, and then looked deliberately into the overhead light to blind himself from the staring eyes. He was here to do a job, be a good enough fiddle to sell the con. Sing his soul’s regret to his heart’s desire. Sparing a quick glance at the controller’s both, Eliot took a quick breath and began.

Big breath, and he let his longing free, swirling and swooping through the air, a great beast of burden. Let them hear, hear his confliction and regret when the team went their separate way after the Two David’s job. How his breath caught with every text message, fingers itching to double check for an encrypted email, googling crimes to ensure his team was safe, _he_ was safe. Always, always pushing down the hurt that Hardison was possibility out there searching for Parker, but not Eliot.

 

He ignored the chatter over the com, and gave himself up the memories of hurt, to vocalize all the jumbled, twisted, stupid longing questions: _did Hardison miss him while the team was separated, did he even think of him_.

Eliot had pushed all thought of the team, their wellbeing, their safety, to the back of his head while in Pakistan. And then a colleague would hand him some new DIA experimental gadget, and memories of Hardison geek spirals would coalesce, clear and bright. A _Dammit Hardison_ would rise unbidden to his lips as apparently, this was his life now, everyone he would ever meet from now on would want to nerd babble at him. DAMMIT HARDISON.

 “Yeah, it’s just me, thinking of you”.

As his fingers lingered over the last note, for a moment, just one moment, he allowed his emotional fatigue to encompass the last pause. The roar of cheers startled him, and adrenaline flooded him.

Hot damn, had he done ok? He ran to the back to get confirmation he hadn’t screwed up Kay Lynn’s song too badly. Joy, pride adrenaline, and the need to finally let himself be emotionally close to someone, pushed him into her personal space.

She was beautiful, and her affirmation was a pool he wanted to steep in. He let himself and Eliot didn’t regret it.

Well, until he put in comm back in and realized he had left Nate vulnerable to the mark.

Dammit, this was all Hardison’s fault-how wasn’t the point-it just WAS.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Eliot fled from the fangirls to meet Hardison and Parker at the studio. The run, the fangirl, Hardison’s snark all had him wound tight by the time he was settling into the recoding booth.

The geek swaggered into the producer’s booth, douchy persona at 1000%, golds chains, tight white tank top, tight white pants. **Holy shit**. The kid was built like a brick shithouse, biceps and shoulders like cannon balls. Hardison was not only taller, but now wider and more built than Eliot’s smaller frame. Saliva flooded his mouth looking at all the chocolaty skin on display.

The intimacy of the booth, the reality of staring Hardison in the eye while recording this song made Eliot shiver with nerves, desire, and self-disgust. Ugh, why was he so weak about the kid.

Big breath, this is no different than last night Eliot reminded himself, be cool.

 _Becoolbecoolbecoolbecool_ circled in his head. Focus on the music.

Eliot starts and Hardison cuts him off. “It’s a little pitchy, just a scotsch”

_Dammit Hardison_

Eliot tried to make eye contact with Hardison as he begins again, and the asshole cut him off calling him pitchy again. Start again and immediately cut off. “Hold on man let me get into the song”. Eliot’s anxiety and natural grumpiness was starting to get the best of him.

“Did you practice your wobbles?” And then Hardison’s effortless “When a new moon shine through yo” in a smooth, whiskey voice cuts through Eliot’s annoyance, stilling all sentient thought as his body reacts, and Eliot blinks.

How can he desire someone who ANNOYS him so much? God, the kid makes him crazy.

Eliot starts again, watching Hardison wave his hands in the air to the song, and then click on the two-way mic again. Eliot has had ENOUGH. In two seconds he is coming through the glass, and strangling Hardison if he says pitchy

one…

more…..

time.

As ever, an Eliot and Hardison disagreement devolves into a pitched battle, Eliot’s voice raising higher and higher at Hardison’s perceived snark. Hardison releases the two-way mic button, acting like he can’t hear Eliot, and Eliot’s head is about to explode from the sheer **rage** the kid riles up in him. No one drives him up the wall faster and with less effort than Hardison. Hardison has Eliot so worked up, he can’t find the emotion of yesterday.  Eliot sits and mumbles to himself, wanting to do a take where he can recapture last night’s feeling of release rather than the rope of tension in his gut now.

Glancing up to see Parker has joined Hardison in the producer’s booth, Eliot grabs the mic and starts to speak, only to be interrupted by the door opening. Kirkwood’s goon steps into the booth saying Eliot needs to come with him. Oh, this idiot has no idea how badly Eliot needs to hit someone right now.

Safely putting the guitar to the side, Eliot relishes the upcoming fight. And when the goon pulls a gun, Eliot feels no empathy for the beating he is going to inflict on the moron for failing to recognize a heart sick man.

Oh yeah, this… _ **this** _ he can handle.

**Author's Note:**

> First fic. It took me longer to figure out how to post than write it-so be nice in the judginess. But all concrit welcome cuz I love these two dudes. A little more angsty than I'd like but I'll do better next time.


End file.
